


We shall find peace

by Morgane (smilla840)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Angst, Battle of the Apocalypse, First Time, M/M, Teaching Cas how to do things, season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smilla840/pseuds/Morgane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final battle is upon them but it’s its aftermath that will prove more trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We shall find peace

**Author's Note:**

> Written aphoticdivinity in the Dean/Castiel fic exchange. I mixed two of the prompts together, one was “If I had the chance to start again…” and the other Castiel touching the handprint on Dean’s shoulder.
> 
> Originally posted at my livejournal.

When the sixty-sixth seal gives and all hell breaks loose, there is only one thing left to do. So they fight, angels and demons and a handful of hunters thrown in the midst of it all, outclassed and outgunned but fighting all the same because that’s what they do.

And in the thick of it there is Dean, focused on trying to deflect the blows aimed at him, ignore the taunts of demons he’s probably met before – and damn, dispatching them has never felt so good – and keep an eye on his brother. 

It gets harder and harder to do as the hours pass and the battle goes on, relentless. His arms have never felt so heavy and his muscles scream at him every time he has to dodge and dance out of reach. He’s tired – scratch that, he is fucking exhausted – and he’s getting slower too, the numerous cuts and bruises now adorning his body a testament of that sad truth. It has become a chore to raise his arms to defend himself and he’s lost track of Sam some time ago. He catches glimpses of him every now and then, surrounded by a small army of angels determined to make sure he won’t be swayed by the dark side at the last minute. Dean would laugh if he had any breath to spare and has to settle on grinning instead. He doesn’t care if they do it for the wrong reasons as long as they keep him safe, and the way things stand there is no way Lucifer will come within twenty feet of Sam. And that’s really all Dean cares about.

Castiel is never far and Dean takes comfort in that, catching a breather every now and then and knowing that Cas has his back.

They fight all day and all night and at dawn on the second day it actually looks like they’re winning. Dean wants to laugh, high on adrenaline and exhaustion – he had honestly thought they would all be toast by now – and redoubles his efforts.

That’s when they make a play for him.

Dean doesn’t notice at first, not until he stops to catch his breath for a second and realizes he is on his own. Cas is nowhere to be found and that scares Dean more than the way Sam is yelling his name, from very very far away.

And he knows. He knows he is going to die, because he sure as hell isn’t going to allow himself to be captured and used against his brother. Sam is his own man and Dean has fought too hard to make that happen to be Sam’s downfall. He tries to look at his brother, tell him he’ll be okay and that they’ll win this war, with or without Dean, but he can’t see him over the army of demons standing between the two of them.

They circle around him slowly, watching and taunting and stepping forward one after the other, forcing him to attack and defend countless of times before they rejoin the circle, tiring him out. They seem to be waiting for something – or someone, and Dean tries not to think about that one – but whatever it is Dean needs to do something soon, can’t let them draw this out or he will be too exhausted to stop them from taking him when the time comes.

When the next one steps forward, carrying a big ass sword, Dean is too slow to evade the blade slashing at his thigh. He hisses when it buries into his flesh and can’t keep his balance when it pulls free. He crumbles to the ground and they watch, the jeering and ugly faces. Dean glares at them, going for his gun as he struggles to get back to his feet. He’ll die standing, thank you very much.

But then Castiel appears in front of him, looking more dishevelled than he’s ever seen him, and Dean has no idea where he just came from but he sure is glad to see him. Pissed too, after the first second of relief, because he certainly doesn’t want Castiel dying with him.

He tries to stand but his injured leg buckles under him and he slumps against Castiel, his hands bunched into his freaking trench coat in an attempt to keep himself upright. He closes his eyes for a second and rests his forehead against Castiel’s back, imagining he feels feathers there.

“Forgive me, Dean,” Castiel says and Dean has no idea what he is apologizing for. Because it’s okay now. Castiel is here and he won’t let them take his soul back to hell when he dies. He promised.

But he nods against Castiel’s shoulder all the same because in the past few months he’s learned that that kind of things was important to the angel. He risks a glance at the demons around them and they seem to have gotten over the surprise of Cas’s sudden appearance. Probably had to rethink their plans too, but they’re edging closer again.

Dean’s running out of time.

“Get the fuck out of here,” he whispers – he isn’t going to bring Cas down with him, self-appointed protector or not. He can watch over his soul from farther away.

But when Castiel turns his head to look at him, he’s smiling that faint wistful smile of his and Dean’s heart aches because he knows Castiel isn’t going anywhere. 

“Close your eyes,” he tells Dean instead, and Dean does.

And then there is light and heat against Dean’s skin, and nothing to keep him upright anymore.

That’s the last thing he remembers before light becomes dark.

~*~

When Dean comes to, the first thing he sees is Sam’s worried face hovering over him and, past him, paint that was once white peeling on a ceiling.

Oh.

Not dead then.

That’s… good. Unexpected, but good.

“You okay?” he says, his voice rough and scratchy – damn, how long was he out?

“Yeah,” Sam answers, making that weird face that means he’s trying not to cry and Dean mentally groans. He can’t deal with his brother going all girly on him seconds only after waking up.

But Sam knows him well and he scrunches his face and sucks it up. “Yeah, I’m good.” He actually sounds like it this time and if his eyes are a little bright, well, neither of them is going to mention it.

“Did we send those mother-fuckers back to Hell?”

“We did, actually. Most of them anyway. Lucifer too. Angels have started rebuilding the broken seals.”

“Good,” Dean says as he stretches cautiously, expecting a world of pain but apart from the dull ache in his left thigh he’s feeling pretty good. “Where is Cas?” he asks, because that was quite a lightshow he put up. That, and he’s gotten used to the angel’s brooding presence when he gets hurt ever since Castiel joined them on a more permanent basis.

Sam looks away and Dean’s eyes narrow. Not good.

“He’s next door,” Sam says as Dean throws back the covers and starts rooting for clothes. Where are his fucking pants? “He’s… Hum…”

Dean almost falls on his face when he stands up – damn, he hates leg wounds – but he compensates and hobbles toward the door, ignoring Sam’s attempts to help. He’s _fine_ , didn’t Sam hear?

“Well what, Sam?” Dean grunts as he gestures impatiently for the door and Sam obliges, opening it and directing Dean towards the room on their right.

“He stretched himself too thin during the battle,” Sam says, not quite meeting Dean’s eyes. “His Grace... it’s almost gone.”

Dean barely hears the rest of his brother’s words – words like ‘he should be okay’ and ‘he just needs some rest’ as he pushes the door open. All he can think about is that it’s his fault. Again.

There is an angel he hasn’t met before keeping watch in a corner of the room. Dean barely spares him a glance because Castiel is there. Except that’s not really him, is it? Not if his Grace is gone – almost gone, he corrects himself. _Almost_. And without it all that’s left is his vessel – his dead vessel – and just… no. How do you regrow a Grace anyway?

Dean limps closer, sitting himself down on the other bed when his leg clamours for it. And stares.

Castiel doesn’t look all that different. In fact he looks like he’s just sleeping – or rather he would if he wasn’t fully dressed. His ‘brothers’, it seems, have no idea how to deal with his human form and just dumped him there. That makes Dean angry for some reason and he welcomes the strong emotion because it’s better than noticing that Cas isn’t even _breathing_ , and although Dean knows he doesn’t actually need to it still freaks him out.

His view of Cas is partially obstructed when the other angel moves to stand in front of him. Dean ignores him as long as he can but when he shows no intention of going away any time soon, Dean reluctantly looks up to meet his solemn gaze.

“He almost destroyed himself for you,” he says and Dean’s anger deflates. He _knows_ and he never wanted him to, but when he tries to say as much he realizes the angel is gone.

Uh.

Guess that means they’re looking after Cas from now on.

Dean feels oddly detached as Sam sits down next to him and they both look at Castiel for a while. He eats the food Sam puts into his hands – urgh, soup – and takes the painkillers that go with it. And curses Sam when he realizes he’s just slipped him a sleeping pill.

When he wakes up again nothing has changed. Some part of him hoped to find Cas back to normal but he isn’t and Dean just feels stupid. Of course his mere presence isn’t going to miraculously fix everything! But now that he is awake he’s got to do _something_ or he just might go crazy.

He spots his bag next to the bed – Sam must have gotten it from their room, and rightly so because there is no way he is leaving Cas alone – and decides that the least he can do is get Cas into something more comfortable. It may be too ‘human’ a thing for angels to do, but it’ll make Dean feel better.

It’s definitely not how Dean had imagined getting Castiel naked for the first time and by the time he is done his leg is screaming for another painkiller. But Cas is now garbed in a pair of old sweatpants and a T-shirt and tucked under the covers, and Dean is pleased. At least now he can imagine Cas is just sleeping.

Then Dean settles back down and waits.

And waits some more.

The first few days are hell. Dean is stuck in bed himself and subject to endless self-recriminations and bursts of anger. He doesn’t want any more people sacrificing themselves for him. He isn’t worth it. And Castiel is a freaking _angel_. It feels wrong for him to be lying there senseless and for Dean to be improving daily. Now if he would just wake up so that Dean could scream at him and get it off his chest…

The worst part is, Dean can’t even deal with his frustrations the usual way (read: take his anger out on unsuspecting supernatural beings who would probably have laid low if they had known a pissed-off Dean Winchester was about to descend on them). His leg won’t let him hunt for another couple of weeks at least and while that ordinarily wouldn’t stop him Sam point-blank refused to look after Cas while Dean went hunting on his own. From his smug smile when Dean finally relented the little shit knew full well Dean wouldn’t leave Cas alone.

Jerk.

So Dean cleans and recleans his weapons, watches daytime TV when he isn’t watching Castiel, hoping to see an eyelid twitch, and makes sure to annoy Sammy as much as possible. He even catches himself thinking ‘if I had a chance to start again…’ a handful of times and immediately shoots that line of thoughts down. Or tries to, anyway. 

Truth be told, Dean isn’t sure he would change anything. He certainly wouldn’t change stopping Sam from killing Dad to get rid of Azazel sooner. Wouldn’t change making the deal for Sam’s life either, no matter what happened afterwards. He might go back and erase the first few months of suspicion and distrust between him and Castiel though. Tell himself Cas is one of the good guys, even if it doesn’t always look that way. They got there in the end and that’s what matters, but it took time and some blind faith Dean didn’t know he had in him. Not that Cas has made a believer out of him – Dean still isn’t sure there actually is a God, and if there is he doesn’t think much of Him – but he has faith in Castiel and that works well enough for the two of them.

He might go back and tell himself not to fall in love with the guy though because that sure sucked, especially in the beginning when all he did was fight it. But then he thinks about the quiet happiness he feels when Cas is at his side and the warmth that blossoms in his chest when he smiles, and he knows he wouldn’t change it for the world – no matter how girlie that makes him sound.

But it’s not like his ramblings and wishful thinking matter either way, really. Cas showed him that you don’t get do-overs so what’s the point in wishing you would, right? 

Some things are meant to be and some just… aren’t.

 

As the days pass the anger slowly fades until all that’s left is a dull ache that flares when he gets too lost in his thoughts. Angels come once a week and they look pleased with Castiel’s progress – not that Dean can see any but it still makes him feel better. Uriel shows up a couple of times too, glaring at Dean murderously, and for once Dean doesn’t want to deck him. If anyone were responsible for Sam looking the way Cas does right now, Dean would be out for blood too. If anything, he thinks Uriel shows a lot of restraint. He probably has Cas to thank for that too.

~*~

The day Dean can walk without wincing, he ditches Sam and gets shit-faced at the nearest bar. He almost fucks some guy because he has blue eyes before he thinks better of it and drinks some more instead. It doesn’t make him feel any better but at least for a few hours he forgets.

The next day, Castiel wakes up.

Dean doesn’t notice at first – Cas doesn’t move, doesn’t make a sound, and it’s not like Dean spends all his time staring at the man (just a lot of it). But his eyes are open and when Dean glances at him he does a double-take.

“Sam,” he yells, the thud and muffled cursing coming from the other side of the wall telling him he’s been heard. Castiel doesn’t move though – in fact he seems engrossed in the ceiling – and Dean coming to kneel next to his bed doesn’t get a reaction either. That’s when Sam comes barging in, gun drawn, and Dean rolls his eyes at him, gesturing towards Castiel.

“He’s awake?” Sam asks and Dean shrugs.

“Think so.” 

But Cas still hasn’t acknowledged his presence or Sam’s grand entrance and shit, something is wrong. Something is wrong, right? Something _always_ goes wrong.

“Hey, Cas. You’re with me here?” Dean says, reaching out to grasp his arm, and when they touch Cas finally blinks and looks at him.

“Dean,” he says and Dean feels a little weak with relief.

“You scared the crap out of me,” he tells him and Castiel cocks his head to the side, looking puzzled.

“Why?” he asks like Dean isn’t making any sense.

“You almost died!” Dean yells and both Sam and Castiel flinch at the sound. Dean lets go of Cas’s arm and steps back, trying to rein in his temper. Cas has just woken up, they really don’t need to be getting into a fight now. “Look, never mind. Just... don’t do it again, okay?”

“But I would.”

Dean stares. “What?”

“I have to keep you safe Dean,” Cas says, serene as always.

“Here is a newsflash for you: Lilith is dead and Lucifer is back in Hell. Your duty is done. You don’t _have_ to do anything anymore!”

And Dean storms out of the room before he starts breaking things. Sam can deal with Castiel for once. He is going back to that bar.

 

Three hours later Dean is nicely buzzed (read: flat-out drunk) but it’s still not quite enough to drown the knowledge that now that Cas’s all better and his mission is over, he’ll go back to Heaven or wherever.

Leaving Dean behind.

Dean is sick of being left behind almost as much as he is sick of people dying for him.

The alcohol gives him the liquid courage he needs to head back to his room. Sam doesn’t look too impressed when he stumbles in and Dean flips him off, studiously ignoring the way Castiel frowns at him.

He collapses on his bed and gratefully passes out, hoping to evade accusatory eyes that follow him in his dreams anyway. He is back in Hell, torturing and being tortured, Alastair goading him on. And when he looks up Castiel is in front of him – except it’s not the Castiel who comes and rescues him in some of his more pleasant dreams. No, this is the Castiel who died for him, damned himself for him and he is strapped to Dean’s bloody table, looking at him with that confused expression he usually levels at Dean when he does something he finds puzzling – human. Sam, his eyes flashing yellow, hands Dean the knife and he starts cutting.

And wakes up with a yell, his heart pounding and cold sweat drenching his clothes.

He barely makes it to the bathroom before he throws up, his stomach emptying painfully, leaving him shaky and light-headed.

After rinsing his mouth and washing his face he hobbles back into the other room, trying not to meet Castiel’s eyes. But Cas won’t be denied and Dean sways towards him, wanting something he doesn’t know how to put into words.

“Dean,” Cas says, holding out a hand, and Dean doesn’t question it. Maybe he is still a little drunk, or at least that’s what he’ll tell himself in the morning. He lies down next to the angel, determined not to go back to sleep.

But Castiel is warm next to him, and whole, and slowly Dean relaxes. He’s cold though and half-asleep despite his best efforts, and that’s how he finds himself drifting closer to Castiel, curling against him and letting his heat chase the cold away. Fingers card through his hair and Dean makes a pleased noise, relaxing further into the soothing motion. Then two fingers brush against his forehead and sleep pulls Dean under.

This time he doesn’t dream.

 

The next morning he wakes up sprawled half on top of Castiel and he realizes he’s being petted, fingers still running through his hair. Normally he would be out of bed in a flash but he is feeling surprisingly good – for a morning following a night of drinking, at least – and he really doesn’t want to move. In fact he would be contemplating going back to sleep for a little while if it weren’t for…

“You need a shower,” he mumbles into Castiel’s shoulder, pulling himself away and wrinkling his nose. He shouldn’t be surprised: neither he nor Sam considered sponge baths – for very different reasons, he hopes – and Cas’s been out for over a month (34 days, but who is counting, right?). Do angels even take shower? Dean isn’t sure he wants to know.

“I do?” Cas asks. He is looking at his hand strangely, rubbing his fingers together, and Dean realizes that’s the hand that was just in his hair.

“You do. Up you go, bathroom.”

Cas complies – and promptly collapses on the carpet.

“Shit,” Dean curses, rounding the bed and pulling him back up. He probably should have seen this one coming – after all, Cas’s vessel has been lying on a bed for weeks. Were he human he would need physical therapy but since this is Castiel Dean really hopes he won’t. The whole situation would be kind of hard to explain to a doc.

“What happened?” Cas asks, looking perplexed. It makes him look human and lost and Dean instinctively tightens his grip on him.

“Your vessel isn’t used to being up and about anymore. Think you can fix it?”

Cas shrugs – a gesture Dean would bet his life on he’s picked up from him, and that makes him feel inordinarily proud.

“It will take time. I am still weak.”

Right. And he still needs that shower. And the only way he is getting it is if Dean gets in there with him and helps.

Fantastic.

“Come on, I’ll give you a hand,” Dean sighs and immediately bites back a groan at his poor choice of words.

This is going to be Hell.

He half-carries, half-drags the angel to the bathroom, sitting him down on the toilet while he gets some fresh clothes from his bag and turns the water on. He strips down to his boxers – he is keeping those on, thank you very much –, feeling himself blush for the first time in 20 years when Castiel looks back at him trustingly. 

He definitely does _not_ think about how close to his fantasies the whole thing is – or at least he tries very hard because the last thing he needs right now is a hard-on, no matter how inevitable it may seem – and mentally steels himself as he starts to undress Castiel, resolved to keep his eyes on Cas’s face. 

By the time he gets him into the shower he is gritting his teeth so hard his jaw hurts and he’s failed miserably on all counts. He also has his arms full of a wet and limp angel who is using him as a backrest and seems to have no idea how to use the freaking soap. 

Honestly, if it was anyone but Cas Dean would think he was doing it on purpose.

Hoping to hurry things along he grabs the bottle and pours some in Cas’s hand.

“There. That’s soap,” he says, and if his voice sounds a little frantic, well, that can be excused. “You use it to wash yourself. You know, rub it on yourself.”

Cas looks at the gel dubiously, poking at it with his free hand before raising a finger to his face to smell it.

“It smells like you,” he says and cautiously starts doing as instructed. 

Dean almost groans in relief – almost done, they’re almost done – and realizes he still has to explain shampoo.

Great.

That is, of course, when Castiel’s arms run out of strength – and Dean runs out of luck (if he ever had any in the first place). So he washes Cas’s hair as quickly as he can, the little noises of happiness the angel makes going straight to his cock (and it really doesn’t need more encouragement at the moment). 

By the time he’s managed to get Cas back into clothes – thank God – and into bed again he really needs some privacy. He locks the bathroom door and steps back into the shower, shoving his soaked underwear out of the way and wrapping a hand around his cock. He strokes himself furiously and comes embarrassingly fast, flashes of Castiel’s naked form imprinted on his eyelids.

Never again, he vows to himself as he slumps against the tiles, letting the water wash away his come before reaching for the soap. Castiel can wait ‘til he is strong enough for his next shower.

 

But Castiel, it turns out, has grown quite fond of showers and the next day his eyes follow Dean hopefully all day. He visibly deflates when Dean gets into bed for the night and his wounded puppy look makes Dean feel like the worst person on earth until he reminds himself it’s for the best.

The next day, hoping to avoid a repeat, he decides to introduce Castiel to the wonderful world of television.

“Here,” he says, throwing him the remote. 

Cas holds it between two fingers, looking it appraisingly before turning back towards Dean for instructions.

“That’s for the TV. You know?” Dean gestures towards the TV and Cas mimics the movement, waving the remote vaguely in the TV’s direction.

Right.

“No, that’s not how you do it. See, first you need to turn it on…” Dean launches himself into an explanation, mentally congratulating himself for successfully distracting Castiel. And if Sam laughs at him when he walks in on them watching Oprah, it’s still better than the alternative.

Or so he keeps thinking until he comes back from getting them some food a couple days later and finds Castiel half passed out in the shower, the freezing water turning his lips blue.

“Fucking hell,” Dean groans, turning the water off and dragging Castiel back to bed. He piles their thin blankets on top of him and when the shivering doesn’t stop he gives up and goes under the covers with him.

“What did you do that for?” he grumbles into Cas’s hair as he holds him against his chest, sharing body heat.

“I liked the water,” Cas tells him. “I didn’t like it today. It was too cold.”

Dean sighs. “That’s because you didn’t turn on the hot water. I’ll show how to do that tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Cas hums in agreement against Dean’s shoulder and Dean is man enough to admit defeat.

There will be more showers.

~*~

Every morning for the next couple of weeks Dean helps Cas into the shower. At first he thinks that time will make him immune but it turns out to be the exact opposite. He invariably gets hard and sometimes Castiel does too. But the angel never seems to notice and Dean tells himself that’s just the vessel’s body reacting.

Castiel is stronger now and all he really needs Dean for is to make sure he doesn’t burn himself with the hot water or to take over if his strength runs out half-way through his shower. It makes it even more awkward for Dean: all he does is stand there and the shower stall isn’t that big to begin with. He looks forward to the day Castiel won’t need him at all, because Cas makes little noises of content when he showers and there are times when all Dean can think about is a rather vivid fantasy of sinking to his knees and taking Castiel in his mouth and making him scream. 

Then one day Cas slips and Dean catches him, pulling him flat against his chest. He’s got both arms wrapped around him and his cock pressed against Cas’s ass, his underwear leaving very little to the imagination.

Shit. Shitshitshit. What happens now? Does Castiel even know what that means? What should he _do_?

He’s so busy panicking that he almost jumps out of his skin when Cas’s lips graze his throat and he can’t quite stop a groan from escaping his lips.

“You want this,” Castiel says, sounding almost pleased, and Dean lets go of him abruptly. He does, he does want this, but Castiel has no idea what he’s offering.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He tries to step back but Cas’s hand closes around his wrist, holding him in place.

“Why do you deny me?” he asks softly, his eyes wide and earnest, and Dean has no defence left against him.

He presses Castiel against the wall and kisses him, intending to make a point that is forgotten the second Cas opens his mouth to him. Cas’s lips are soft and clumsy against his and it’s painfully obvious he’s never done this before, his groan of surprise drowning out Dean’s.

“Cas,” Dean sighs, pulling back briefly in order to catch his breath. Castiel won’t let him though, his mouth seeking Dean’s out blindly, and Dean doesn’t need more enticement than that.

He lets his hands explore the body he’s spent so much time trying to ignore and feels Cas do the same, a bolt of lust coursing through him when Cas’s hand closes over his mark on Dean’s shoulder. His hips shoot forward in reaction, seeking more friction and Cas breaks the kiss with a surprised gasp when their cocks meet, whimpering when Dean pulls away to get rid of his underwear. It lands on the floor with a wet splash that neither of them notices because Dean is pressing his hips forward again, purposefully this time, and Cas groans, trying to pull him closer.

“Oh fuck,” Dean moans. “You want this. You really want this.”

He reaches down to grasp them both in his hand and Cas trashes against him as Dean starts a slow and easy rhythm. His breathing quickens, coming in short pants punctuated with Dean’s name and it doesn’t take long before Dean feels Cas tensing against him. He is close but Castiel seems to be fighting it, his breathing too fast and erratic and his grip on Dean’s arm almost painfully tight.

“Dean…” he says, sounding panicked now that he is so close to his peak. “What…”

“Sshh, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Dean kisses his jaw and quickens his strokes. “You just have to let go and you’re going to feel so good. Come on, Cas, just let go.”

He does, trusting Dean with everything he is and coming with a shout that makes Dean’s ears hurt. For a second he thinks he sees wings and then his own need takes over and he lets go of their cocks to grip Cas’s ass, yanking him as close as he can as he ruts against him, hard and fast. Cas’s arms close around him and he says his name again, breathless and reverent and that’s what tips Dean over the edge. He comes with a ragged groan, jerking and spurting all over Castiel’s stomach before slumping against him, shaking with the knowledge of what he’s just done.

“Why?” he asks, his voice raw from too many emotions.

Castiel smiles and strokes his back, making Dean shiver. “Because it’s you, Dean.”

Which – as far as Dean is concerned – doesn’t explain shit but he doesn’t push, dropping a light kiss on Cas’s lips before pulling away and shutting the water off.

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He steers Cas out of the shower and they get dressed slowly, mostly because Cas keeps reaching out and tracing patterns on Dean’s naked skin, which greatly impedes his ability to put his feet into the right holes. By the time they’re both decent they’re a little flushed and Dean is grinning like a lunatic.

The sight that greets him when they step out of the bathroom has the effect of a bucket of cold water dumped unceremoniously on his head.

There is a petite woman standing in the middle of the room, watching them both with hawk eyes.

Michael.

“Brother,” he – she? Damn, angels are confusing – says, nodding at Castiel. “It is good to see you well.”

Castiel bows his head in greetings and Michael turns his attention to Dean. He doesn’t look too pleased with him – then again he never did whenever they met in the past – and his tone is icy when he speaks again.

“I need to talk to my brother alone.”

Dean wants to refuse but feels Castiel’s hand on his lower back giving him a subtle push towards the door, and so he finds himself walking out of the room. He stops just outside the door, trying to listen in before berating himself – he is being such a girl – and going next door to see Sam. His brother looks up from his book and frowns.

“Everything okay, dude?”

“Michael is here,” Dean tells him and Sam nods.

“I know, he was just in here. Said they had finished rebuilding all the seals. Oh.” Sam goes quiet as Dean starts pacing, understanding colouring his face.

The angels are leaving.

Castiel is leaving.

Dean’s always known this day would happen but somehow he managed to block it out until now and it hits him all at once. He just can’t keep his head buried in the sand anymore and it fucking hurts. Was that what the sex was all about? Castiel giving him what he thought Dean wanted before he left? Well, fuck that. 

He storms out of Sam’s room and barges back into his own. Michael is already gone and that’s probably just as well or Dean would give one more reason to dislike him. He crosses his arms and glares at Castiel who looks back at him serenely.

“They’re done with the seals,” Dean says and Castiel nods. “They’re leaving.” Castiel nods again. “ _You_ ’re leaving.”

This time Cas tilts his head to the side, looking at Dean like he is some sort of puzzle.

“No.”

Dean blinks. Did he just…

“But your mission is over!” he explodes. “You stopped the Apocalypse, Lucifer is back in Hell and the seals will hold until some crazy-ass lunatic decides to break them again! Why would you stay here!?”

“My mission isn’t over, Dean,” Castiel says with a soft smile. “You are still here. You are important. Did you think that would cease to be true once we had stopped Lilith?”

“So that’s why you’re staying,” Dean says bitterly. “For your _mission_ *.”

Castiel shakes his head, rising to stand in front of him and Dean freezes when Cas palms his handprint on Dean’s shoulder, the gesture both shy and possessive.

“I could easily watch you from the skies. I wish to stay here. With you.”

“You do?” Dean asks, a little breathless and a lot confused.

“Yes.”

And Dean gets it, finally _gets it_ – granted, he’s been a little slow on the uptake but how could he expect an angel to fall in love with him? Even Dean isn’t that arrogant. But none of his past doubts matters anymore and he grabs Castiel by the back of his neck, pulling him close and kissing him hard. He doesn’t worry about scaring him off this time, not when Cas is giving as good as he gets, and he takes a step forward so that Cas has to step back, the back of his knees hitting the bed and making him lose his balance.

He is quite a sight, sprawled on top of the covers in Dean’s clothes, and Dean takes a second to admire it. His hair is rumpled and his lips swollen, his blue eyes a shade darker than usual and Dean’s done that. He’s made him look like that.

He sinks to his knees between Castiel’s thighs and pushes his T-shirt up, kissing the bare skin he finds there. Cas whimpers, squirming against him as he grows hard, and spreads his legs wider, trying to get Dean to do something he has no word for.

Dean mouths him through his pants and Cas thrusts up with a groan.

“Dean… I want- I need…”

“I know,” Dean says, yanking Cas’s pants down and yes, finally.

He nuzzles Cas’s cock and balls before licking his way back up slowly. Cas screams when he takes him in his mouth, almost coming off the bed at the brand new feeling and Dean has to grasp his hips and press him back down against the bed before he chokes him – it’s been a while since he’s done this, he’s going to have to take it slow.

He sucks on the head and Cas moans his name, both plea and thanks as he tries to keep still but inevitably strains against Dean’s hold, trying to bury himself into Dean’s mouth. Inch by inch Dean takes him deeper, groaning at the sounds coming from Castiel whose reaction is wild and unadorned.

“Dean… _Dean_ ,” he gasps as he gets close to his orgasm, one of his hands seeking Dean blindly for reassurance. Dean can’t tell him it’s okay but he grasps Castiel’s hand and squeezes and Castiel comes, bucking against him with his head thrown back. This time Dean is sure he sees wings and he lets go of Cas’s softening cock, crawling on top of the bed to lie next to him. He pulls Castiel’s trembling body close, their hands still clasped together between them, and kisses him sharing his taste with him.

They kiss for a while until Dean’s own hard-on distracts him and he finds himself rocking against Castiel. A hesitant hand closes around him and Dean groans, burying his face into Castiel’s throat and letting him explore. He tries different grips and different rhythms, driving Dean crazy until he can’t stand it anymore and wraps his own hand around Castiel’s, guiding him and showing him what he needs. A few rough strokes and he is coming, panting against Castiel’s skin as he tries to catch his breath.

Once he’s recovered he cleans them both as best as he can, too tired for a trip to the bathroom. Then he wraps himself around Castiel and tries to keep his eyes open in a futile attempt to ward off sleep until he makes sure.

“You’re staying with me,” he states, already half-asleep despite his best efforts.

“I am.”

“Good.”

The last thing Dean feels before darkness takes him is Cas stroking his hair. And so he sleeps, secure in the knowledge that Castiel is watching over him.


End file.
